Byron took a breath that seemed to scrape through him.
“Yes, son,” he said. “I am.”
The world narrowed to the sound of Levi’s next inhale.
I held on to him and watched the pieces of his past rearrange themselves in his eyes, wondering how the hell any of us were supposed to walk out of this house the same people we’d been when we walked in.
14
LEVI
The words sat in the air like spent brass—hot, metallic, impossible to pick up without burning your fingers.
Yes, son. I am.
I stared at the man who’d just said them.
Byron Dane.
Alive.
Breathing.
Standing in the same room as me after years of being a ghost in a flag-draped box.
My knees wanted to fold. My fists wanted to fly. My lungs forgot how to work.
I felt Amelia’s hand in mine—small, steady, the only thing keeping me vertical. She squeezed once. Not comfort. Not pity. JustI’m here. Don’t you dare disappear on me now.
I squeezed back so hard I probably left bruises.
Charlie cleared his throat. “I’ll give you three the room.”
“No,” I said. The word cracked out like a rifle shot. “You stay.”
Charlie paused mid-step. Byron’s eyes flicked to him, something unreadable passing between them—old habit, old hierarchy, old secrets.
Amelia shifted beside me. “Please,” she said, voice calm enough to fool anyone who didn’t know her, “I think Levi gets to decide who stays.”
Byron’s gaze cut to her. Respect. Caution. Calculation.
He nodded once. “Fair.”
Charlie exhaled and leaned against the doorframe, arms folded, the picture of relaxed vigilance. The viper in the hall had nothing on him.
I let go of Amelia’s hand—had to, or I’d crush it—and took one step forward. The rug felt like quicksand.
“Start talking,” I said. “From the beginning. And if you lie to me once—if I smell it—I walk out that door and you never see me again.”
Byron’s throat worked. For the first time, the man looked old.
“I won’t lie,” he said. “But you’re not going to like the truth.”
“Try me.”
He gestured to the leather chairs. “Sit.”
“I’ll stand.”
